Moonlight Shadow
by Soot
Summary: America/England. Arthur is in a coma and Alfred is stricken with grief as he prays and hopes that Arthur will wake up.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Moonlight Shadow

Summary: America/England. Arthur is in a coma and Alfred is stricken with grief as he prays and hopes that Arthur will wake up.

Disclaimer: I do not own and never will.

Warning: Slash, don't like don't read.

A/N: If you have seen Red Dwarf - you may be able to tell i grew up watching it. ^_^

…

_Arguing was something that was nothing new between Arthur and Alfred. _

"_Of course I revoke your idea to install a giant toupee over the hole in the earth's ozone, you prat". Arthur spat at Alfred. This was just one of the latest world class ideas from Alfred, and Arthur thought he had heard everything until this latest idea. If being blown literally out of ones chair with horror and surprise at a former colonies daft, hair-brain scheme was an Olympic sport – Arthur would have run home with the gold for sure. _

_Alfred was about to defend his idea (which he thought was a work of genius and Arthur was just being touchy) when both himself and Arthur noticed that there was a masked gun man in front of them, a crimson light dancing on Alfred's stomach. _

_What made Arthur jump in front of Alfred and shield him was something Alfred at the time had no conception of. Arthur had always made it clear that he was not going to be pulled into anything that was not of his doing just to defend Alfred. Alfred had made his independence very clear to him. _

_Alfred could hear the audible gasp from Arthur as the bullet struck him. Alfred flinched with the anticipation that the bullet was also going to hit him, and this made the shooter think he had hit both before running off. Alfred hands shot to his own stomach on reflex. He knew he was uninjured on instincts. Arthur turned slightly to his side so he could see him, the colour in his face from their argument gone. Alfred's eyes caught sight of Arthur's blood saturating his while shirt and he felt his world stop. Arthur 's hands went to his wound that was bleeding profusely and raised them so he could see them. They were red. _

_Arthur's emerald green eyes shone fear. Alfred found himself unable to move. He had never seen England terrified. He had grown up thinking England wasn't scared of anybody or anything. This new side of Arthur horrified him. _

_However, when he saw Arthur collapse and fall to the ground, his legs no longer able to hold his weight, Alfred snapped out of his reverie and panic surged through him as he dropped to his knees next to his former carer. When Arthur had collapsed, a dull thud was heard by Alfred as his head made contact with the concrete ground. _

"_Arthur!" Alfred shouted distressed as he wrapped his arms around Arthur's now still form and gently manoeuvred him so he could rest in the crook of his arm. "Arthur!" His hand shot to his neck to check for a pulse. When he found it, it was slow and lethargic. Fighting tears of both grief and frustration, Alfred applied pressure to the wound, his eyes focusing in on Arthur's now ashen skin and the little and far between movements of his chest. He could feel the blood leaving Arthur as his life seeped away between his fingers. _

"_Arthur". Alfred chocked back a sob. "Arthur!"_

Alfred woke up covered in cold sweat, his shirt and shorts sticking to his body as his heart hammered violently and hot tears rolled down his face. The cold moon light streamed in through the window, drenching him in a white, surreal light. Breathing heavily, he wiped away the tears with the back of his hand before climbing out of bed to shut the curtains. He would never get back to sleep with the moon light intruding in his room and glaring in his eyes.

After shutting the curtains, he sat on the edge of his bed and rested his head in his hands, his elbows causing discomfort as they dug into his legs, but he paid it little heed. He licked his dry lips in thought. He thought he was becoming something of an obsessive compulsive, but, like every night, he relented. He stood and left his room in silence.

Alfred padded down the hall towards the guest room that he had put Arthur in. He made this trip every night, but the hope that he harboured that something would have changed was beginning to dim and fade away into nothingness. He would have loved nothing more than to discover that Arthur had woken up, even if it did mean Arthur was going to clout him around the head for putting him in such a situation. Alfred, despite the physical discomfort that the situation would bring him, would have welcomed Arthur trying to strike him and, knowing Arthur, probably succeeding in it too.

But he was never awake when he stepped into the guest room.

Arriving at the Arthur's door, Alfred knocked. It was becoming a habit, but it kept the hope alive. Every night that he would knock on the door, he would strain his ears, listening for the British accented voice from within the room to give him clearance to enter.

But as usual, there was no voice, nor was there the rustling of covers and the soft sound of footsteps as Arthur walked to open the door.

Sighing sadly, Alfred pushed open the door and stepped inside the dark room. Everything was gloomy, as though in mourning. Even the furniture had was downcast, silent and sombre. Quietly closing the door behind himself, Alfred moved through the room with an awareness that came from knowing the layout of the furniture in the room like the back of his own hand. Slowly, he sat at the edge of the bed and and took Arthur's cold, limp hand in his own. Alfred had taken charge over Arthur after realising that he did not trust anyone else to do it.

Arthur was a pitiful sight. His bones were protruding through his clothes as both weight and muscle left him; his skin was grey and his once vibrant ash blonde hair was now dull and limp. His eyes had black circles around them and he looked fragile and easily breakable.

It had never occurred to Alfred since his decision to become independent of England that he was actually still dependent on him. He may have mocked and tormented England, especially with his inflated ego, but Arthur was always there to receive them and shoot back insults. Now Arthur was not there, not even at the end of the phone, Alfred's world had lost its shine. The effect of having Arthur laid in a coma showed, most notably at conferences where Alfred was no longer remarking with great enthusiasm how great he was or ranting on about impossible schemes that he for some reason believed could be achieved. Other nations had learned not to mention Arthur, either in absence or to see if his condition had changed. This had come after Canada had inquired into Arthur and was attacked by Alfred while he sobbed bitterly.

Even Russia didn't ask.

Alfred turned down anything that took him away from Arthur's side for too long. He wanted to be there when he finally woke up, but as days turned into week, he began to feel as though Arthur was never going to wake up. Everyday he woke up and raced to Arthur's side, believing that that was the day that he was going to see Arthur awake and smiling at him, his green eyes alive and no longer looking as though he was apart of the dead. Alfred prayed for the day he could see those emerald green eyes again. Glittering with tears, blazing with anger or shining with confusion, he didn't care, he simply wanted to see them again.

Alfred understood that _if _Arthur woke up again, Arthur may not recognise him. He may have no memory of him at all; he may not even remember he was a nation. There was defiantly going to be trouble with getting Arthur to walk on his own again, but that was definite, a proven fact. It was the uncertainties that kept him awake at nights, his imagination twisting and sculpting the worst possible outcome, then making it worse still.

What if Arthur was reduced to little more than a child?

Alfred, watching Arthur, brushed all thoughts aside and decided that he was going to spend the night by Arthur's side. Leaning in, he delicately brushed aside Arthur's ash blonde hair before placing a gentle kiss to his cold forehead and climbed under the covers with him. He pulled Arthur into his arms and held him tightly. Arthur's head rolled to the side as Alfred moved him so he could wrap his arms around his gaunt frame so he could keep him in a protective embrace.

"I love you, you bloody fool". Alfred chocked before burying his head in the crook of Arthur's neck, his hot tears saturating Arthur's clothing. Feeling Arthur's cold, ashen, gaunt cheek against his forehead just made the tears flow harder.

There was no response to his words.

Their never was.

End.

A/N: Should I write one where Arthur wakes up? Maybe Alfred could help Arthur to walk again (and we all know hilarity will ensue with that one). ^o^


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: After enough reviews demanding that I see this one through, I decided to update and make a decent length story out of it.

Alfred sat flicking through the channels on TV. Never before had day time TV seemed so monotonous and boring to him. Chat shows held nothing for him, even the dysfunctional ones. He sighed sadly.

Everything was so bland now.

Burgers were bland. Fizzy pop was bland. Coffee was bland. Everything.

Alfred simply didn't know what to do with himself.

He had checked on Arthur less than an hour ago but, with everything else so bland and beige around him, he decided that sitting and staring at Arthur and wishing for him to wake up would be better than staring blindly at the TV.

Standing up and stretching, Alfred wore a sad expression and kept his head low as he walked back towards the guest room. How many times he had made this journey now were lost to him. He had done it too many times to count. Giving into his habit of knocking on the door again, Alfred bit his lip before he entered.

He felt his blood run cold though when he saw the bed was empty … and Arthur missing.

Racing into the room, Alfred's eyes scrutinised the area. "Arthur?" He whispered, not being able to raise his voice much higher. "Arthur?" Walking further into the room, every time his eyes came to rest upon the empty bed and the messy covers, he felt his blood run cold anew. As he progressed and walking around the far side of the bed, Alfred's eyes came to rest on a trembling, curled up body dressed in thin white night clothes.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked as he advanced. He felt his heart swell. Arthur was awake and he could once more see his stunning emerald green eyes like he had wished and longed for for too long.

Arthur's mouth moved but no sounds came out with the exception of the odd croak. His emerald eyes were wide and his blonde hair fell in front of them, shading them. Alfred let out a huge sigh of relief. "Arthur!" He shouted with joy, expecting Arthur to leap up into his arms. His imagination ran away for those first few moments. He imagined how he would hold Arthur close, kiss him, confess to him, allow his fingers to trace Arthur's jaw and cheeks while Arthur would arch into his touch and gasp as the American's lips met his neck and collar bone. However, this was short lived as Alfred caught Arthur's expression as he was about to drop down next to him, the words of his confession that was on the tip of his tongue dying immediately.

Arthur's expression was one of abject terror.

Alfred watched, his heart breaking, as Arthur desperately tried to crawl away from him. Because of the long time of inactivity, Arthur could no longer walk or use his arms to lift anything heavy. Alfred stood transfixed before doing the only thing he could think off as Arthur looked set to injure himself in his attempt of getting away from him.

Alfred grabbed Arthur's ankle after it had collided with the bed and Arthur gave a very scared, animalistic scream with the contact and continued his weak struggle as Alfred straddled him in a desperate bid not to let him hurt himself further. Alfred even pinned Arthur's frail arms above his head just to make sure that Arthur didn't get a lucky strike against him.

Alfred could feel Arthur's heart slamming against his ribs while he watched him violently shake. "Arthur! It's me! Alfred! Don't you remember me?" Alfred felt despair start to creep in as his eyes filled with tears. It was starting to sink in. Arthur did not recognise him.

Alfred looked away to hide his own distress only to feel Arthur fall still beneath him. Alfred turned his attention back to the Englishman only to find he was unconscious again. Alfred started to openly cry, fearing his beloved to be dead. Clasping Arthur's shoulders and raising him, Alfred shook him hard, trying to wake him back up. It was only when Alfred stopped in his attempts that he noticed the soft rise and fall of Arthur's chest.

He was greatly confused. Arthur had woke from his coma, but now he had fallen back into it. Alfred felt fresh bitter tears roll silently down his cheeks. Was Arthur slipping back out of his reach. He would much rather have Arthur awake and not know who he was (though it hurt him greatly), than to have Arthur still stuck in a coma.

Alfred rested Arthur up against him. He ran his fingers delicately through Arthur's hair around his ear as the Englishman's head rested on his shoulder before lifting them and running his finger tips lightly across Arthur's gaunt cheek bone. Arthur never flinched beneath his touch. Alfred buried his face in Arthur's hair and bit back another sob. What had he done, in this life or in the one before, to deserve this torment?

Placing an arm around the Englishman's back and another under his legs, Alfred lifted him easily and placed him back in his bed. He didn't care at that moment how Arthur had gotten from the bed to the floor. It never crossed his mind to question if he fell out or rolled out. He pulled the quilt up to cover the frail Englishman before placing an affectionate kiss on his forehead. It had become another piece of hope that Alfred clung on to. If he didn't kiss Arthur's forehead every time he saw him, he believed he would never wake up. He knew it was stupid, but it never stopped him for continuing what was fast becoming obsessive compulsive. Now, he viewed it as imperative that he continued this practice.

Looking back over his shoulder as he left the room just to see if Arthur had opened his eyes again, Alfred left, the dark cloud that hung over him intensifying. He wanted Arthur awake again, but he also wanted him to remember him. He didn't think that he could bear it if Arthur was but a child in mind. It wasn't that he was opposed to looking after him; he just wanted the Arthur he fell in love with.

He wanted his Arthur.

Looking down at the floor as he walked back down the stairs and into his kitchen, he contemplated making something to eat, but decided against it. He wasn't hungry. He was eating less and now and was having to tighten his belt as his clothes hung off him. Francis had been the only one with enough courage to bridge that conversation with him when he arrived on his door step demanding to see Arthur. Francis left with a black eye, a broken nose and his hair shorter on one side, but the subject matter made it through Alfred's cranium and had remained with him. It was probably the only reason he was still standing. He had been making himself eat.

Walking past his study, Alfred kept walking as the concept of work struck him as impossible at that time. His mind was only on Arthur. When he worked, his mind needed to be on the work and nothing else.

Alfred dropped down in front of his laptop, desperate to understand what had just happened in his guest room. It didn't take him all that long to find a website that was in depth enough to understand, but missed out all the medical terminology.

Running a hand through his greasy blonde hair and concluding to have a shower after he had found what he wanted to know out, Alfred began reading the web page.

_Coma, meaning deep sleep, is a mental state where one will not respond to external stimulus._

_There is much debate over the predominant cause of this condition. It is commonly thought though among doctors and scientists that a head trauma can result in this condition._

_One who is in a state of comatose will not miraculously recover. That is a myth. Rates of recovery vary between patients and is not necessarily based on the depth of the coma. The two outcomes are either recovery or death. Pneumonia is one of the predominate causes of death in coma patients due to their limitation of remaining in a bed, but this comes about among patients that do not wake up inside the average time. It is rare that a coma should continue for more than five or six weeks. _

_For recovery, a patient will regain consciousness gradually. They may be conscious for seconds, or minutes at first, but gradually this time will extend itself to create much longer periods of consciousness. However, one must be sympathetic, as the patient will have many disabilities. Dyspepsia (the inability of articulate words or thoughts) is a common disability, however in many cases the patient recovers this ability to match their abilities beforehand. Some do not however, and remain in what is commonly known as a child like state, a state where by one's recovery is limited. Tasks that they before would have done on a daily basis will become incomprehensible to them; a physical impossibility. In addition to this, speech may be affected, simple words being the utmost of their ability to grasp. _

_A patient upon waking up will find themselves confused and frightened, especially if they do not recognise those that they may be surrounded by. Family and friends at first will find this hard to accept, but recall often happens. There are sad exceptions though where by the patient has no recollection of loved ones... _

Alfred could read no more.

TBC …


End file.
